


Mutations Don't Fix Hangovers

by sergeant_smudge



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: But it's okay, Domestic, Erik Is Kind of a Dick, Ficlet, Fluff, Hangover, Headaches & Migraines, M/M, why is everyone drunk in my fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 21:09:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6723538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sergeant_smudge/pseuds/sergeant_smudge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone is very drunk.<br/>No, wait. They /were/ drunk.<br/>Now they're all hungover, and Erik thinks it's very funny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mutations Don't Fix Hangovers

When Charles first blinks his eyes open, it’s dark. Legs are moving in front of his face, and the sound of socked feet pass by him. He vaguely recognizes the fact that he’s upside down. As his brain warms up, whirring like an ancient computer, he begins to feel the pangs of an awful headache in his temples. There’s rustling near him that sounds like curtain rings, and  _ oh no, oh no, oh – _

“Rise and shine,  _ schweine _ !” Erik shouts, swinging the shades open grandly, flooding the room with morning light. The room’s occupants groan, flinging curses and pillows at the grinning Erik. He’s in workout gear, evidently having returned from a run. Charles squints up at him, a muddled sense of discontent brewing somewhere in his chest. 

“Why?” he groans, the vibration of his own words making him nauseous. Erik peels Charles’ arm away from his eyes, grinning down him with too-bright white teeth. 

“Good morning to you as well,  _ Professor,” _ Erik says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“Not a professor. Not right now. Now I am only hungover,” Charles moans, rubbing his face messily with his hand. There’s the uncoordinated sound of Sean sprinting for a toilet while everyone else continues to grumble and move about in the bright room. The telepath blinks heavily, unhooking his legs from the top of the couch and thumping them against the cushion so he lay facedown. 

“I have no issue with abusing the American government’s money, Charles, but don’t you think this is a bit much?” Erik calls mockingly, too  _ too  _ loud as he examines empty glass bottles strewn about the room. Charles steels himself, then goes through the arduous process of sitting up. 

His feet finally hit the floor, and the head rush is so severe, that Charles just pushes his palms into his eyes and hopelessly waits it out. He blearily looks up as a warm hand gently knocks a glass into his forehead. Erik stands there, offering a bubbling glass of Alka Seltzer and two paracetamol in the palm of his hand.

Charles takes them reverently, as though being offered a rare heirloom. He swallows the pills and takes a careful gulp of the water. Sean is still retching awfully in the next room, and he’s not sure he could make it to the upstairs bathroom if necessary. He presses the cool glass to his forehead. “Why is alcohol so terrible?” 

Erik is still smiling, utterly amused by the proceedings. He sits down beside Charles, swinging an arm around the back of the couch. “I’m not sure it’s the alcohol’s fault, Charles, but rather the fact that you cannot in any way hold your liquor.” It’s a jibe, and he’s meant to respond cleverly, but Charles can barely process the English language at the moment, so he nods soberly. 

A glance at the room reveals more mutants in a similar situation. Alex has scooted himself into a corner where the sun doesn’t hit, several pillows clenched tightly around his head. Raven, very much blue, is lying on the opposite couch like a Victorian maiden, her red hair buried under what looks to be Hank’s shirt from the night before. Hank is nowhere to be seen, but Charles can only assume he will be minimally clothed when found. 

“Well, let’s hope none of our enemies ever has a well-stocked liquor cabinet, because we’ll just have to surrender,” Charles murmurs, leaning over into Erik’s chest. His low laugh rumbles against Charles’ temple, lowering the volume of his headache for a moment. 

“Speak for yourself,” Erik replies, his voice smooth and warm. Charles feels about ready to fall asleep, like a cat in a sunbeam, tucked against Erik’s side, but he’s shaken awake. “Not here,  _ schatz _ , I need a shower first.” He pushes Charles into a sitting position, eliciting an upset grumble. 

He stands and begins to walk towards the stairs, only to find Charles following closely behind, eyes lidded against the light, steps uncertain. “Where are you going?” Erik asks, pleasantly entertained. 

“To … shower?” Charles asks, confusion playing across his face. 

“Well, I didn’t mean,” Erik begins, trying to suppress the laughter in his voice. “I didn’t mean  _ together _ ,” he says, keeping his voice as serious as possible. Charles’ face creases in understanding, what looks like disappointment in his half-asleep face. “I suppose if you want-“ 

“Can you go be loud and disgusting somewhere else?” Raven yells from the couch. 

“Yeah!” Alex groans in agreement, muffled by his pillow helmet. 

“Yeah!” another voice assents, and everyone in the room jumps, Charles grabbing a handful of Erik’s shirt in his fear. 

“Who the hell was that?” Alex murmurs. 

“Me,” the voice says, from somewhere on the floor. Charles looks down, to find Hank lying flat against the back of the sofa occupied by Raven, shirtless and without his glasses.

“Good lord, Hank,” Charles says, unlatching his fingers. “Where is your shirt?” 

“Raven has it,” Hank and Alex say simultaneously as Raven mutters, 

“I have it,” holding it up as proof. 

“I don’t want to deal with this,” Charles says, sounding exhausted. 

“I agree,” Erik says, folding an arm around Charles’ back and leading them up the stairs. 

-x-


End file.
